OneShot Gallery
by Scream It Loud
Summary: This is just a collection of all my one-shots put together in one story because making an entire story dedicated to only one chapter seems pointless to me. Different time frames and none are continued. Yet.
1. Don't Lick the Steak

**I don't usually write many stories that involve Jacob, but I wondered what a fight would be like if it was Jacob and Emmett in the ring. Have you not? Hmm, maybe just me.**

**Anywho, I thought it would be boring and predictable to write it in either Jacob's or Emmett's point of view, so I wrote it in Alice's. Her insight to any situation is always much more interesting, anyway.**

**:]**

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((Don't Lick the Steak))

**((A Twilight One-Shot))**

"What's going on out here?" I asked Edward, who was standing in the yard outside our house, looking at something across the river with unashamed amusement.

"Wait for it . . ."

At that second, Emmett came crashing through the trees, posed for a fight. I cocked my head to the side, confused, until a massive russet-brown wolf came bounding after him, a snarl issuing between its clenched teeth.

I looked at Edward questioningly.

"Emmett licked Jacob's steak," he explained simply, not looking away from the fight in front of us.

"Would that not kill him? Our venom, I mean." Didn't Jacob say that one touch of our venom could be deadly to him or any member of the pack?

"He didn't eat it—said it smelled too repulsive." He chuckled slightly at that. "The venom has to reach his bloodstream to make a difference."

"And so now we're here," I said, finishing the story for him.

"And now we're here."

We returned our attention to the two idiots still scrambling in front of us. They slowly circled each other for a few seconds, then Emmett jumped onto Jacob's back, laughing menacingly.

"How do you like _this_, dog?" Emmett licked Jacob's shoulder.

Jacob howled and Emmett quickly jumped off his back, holding his tongue out.

"That was _disgusting_!" Emmett complained.

"Jacob didn't think it was too great, either," Edward said, reading Jacob's thoughts.

Jacob shook his head, holding it away from his contaminated shoulder.

After a quick hesitation, they lunged at each other again, taking their fight deep into the woods. So deep, in fact, that we couldn't see them anymore, only hear their grunts and snarls.

But, I couldn't look away—it was just too humorous. The simplest form of entertainment, but my gaze was too transfixed to look at anything else. I guessed this was like human's reaction to television.

Without my even noticing, Jasper was standing beside me, looking out into the woods.

"The steak?" he asked.

Edward and I both nodded, not looking away from the general direction of the battle.

Then, as if forced to, Jasper was staring at the battle scene just as intently as we were.

"Do I _smell_ good, puppy?" we heard Emmett taunt. "Or is it too much for ya?"

As we heard the two progress violently closer to us, I thought about how stupid it was of us to just stand here, watching nothing. But I wanted to know the outcome—

_Duh_.

I searched the immediate future, looking for this battle and how it would end. It came up murky at first, but I focused on it as it came closer to the present.

_Emmett and Jacob will come out of the woods together, Emmett on Jacob's back, riding him like a bull. "Yeehaw!" Emmett will shout as Jacob kicks wildly, trying to get the vampire off of his back. He will kick and jump around in circles, taking down a few trees in his struggle. When his back is facing the roaring river, Jacob will throw himself backwards so he is on his back legs, Emmett barely holding on. After much cursing, Emmett will begin to fall backwards into the river, but he will refuse to let go of Jacob's fur, taking him down with him, both of them being carried away in the river._

I stifled a giggle.

Edward looked over at me, and I quickly thought of something else, not wanting him to know what I saw.

"What is th—," Bella began, Renesmee walking beside her.

"Oh, Bella! You're back from your hunting trip!" I enthused, skipping over to hug her and Renesmee.

"I apparently chose a wrong time to come back," she mumbled absently, seeing the battle in front of her. And, like the rest of us, she was too engrossed to say anything else.

But Renesmee wasn't so easily distracted. She walked up to Edward, and he picked her up as she held her hand to his face.

"No, they're not trying to kill each other," he said, answering her unspoken question. "They're just . . . playing."

Nessie didn't look convinced, but didn't argue.

The fight slowly made its way closer to the river, and I waited for Emmett to jump on Jacob's back, ending this with a big finale. So far, it was just mainly Emmett teasing and taunting, and Jacob responding with a fierce growl and a lunge at his ankles.

Then Rosalie joined us.

"Oh my Go—is this _still_ about the steaks?" she asked incredulously, hands on hips, glaring out into the woods.

"Yup," Jasper said, making a _pop_ing sound on the _p_. We all nodded.

She sighed, but stood there like we did, staring like we did.

Then—_finally_—Emmett began running closer to us, a huge grin on his face, lifting up his knees with every step, keeping his feet away from Jacob's teeth snapping at them.

The two kept gaining speed, and Emmett, with a smirk on his face, jumped up suddenly, landing with a _thud_ on Jacob's back.

Jacob didn't bother to slow down, but kept running until he came to the clearing on the opposite side of the river from us. He began the kicking, eyes wild, snorting loudly, sounding much like a bull.

"Yeehaw!" Emmett screamed, now obviously trying to make a show for us.

The vision was laying out perfectly, and I anticipated the big ending. Picking up on my thoughts, Edward threw me a sideways glance. I quickly muffled my excitement by counting backwards from two thousand in Swedish.

"Emmett, you're being stupid!" Rosalie scolded half-heartedly. I think she wouldn't be too upset if he hurt Jacob in some way.

Then, as if on cue, my vision came true—Jacob reared backwards, throwing off his balance, landing in the river on top of Emmett.

They both stayed under for a moment, then came back up a quarter of a mile away from where they fell.

Jacob jumped out first, shaking out his fur, drying it, and soaking all of us as we ran to them.

Emmett finally came out from the river, soaked, clothes ripped, glaring at Jacob.

"Okay, man. Truce? For now?" he asked, holding out a fist.

Jacob started lifting up a paw to touch it to Emmett's fist, but he purposefully put too much force behind it and ended up knocking Emmett back into the river.

Jacob gave a throaty chuckle.

"What was that for?" Emmett asked as he immerged for the second time.

"He just wanted to do it before you got the chance to," Edward answered for Jacob.

Jacob shrugged.

"Jake . . ." Renesmee began, shaking her head. She walked over to him and he laid down on his stomach so she could reach his head. She wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, then quickly pulled back, her hand covering her nose.

Jacob looked confused.

"You smell bad," she told him.

We all looked at her. She had the most human sense of smell, so it was odd for her to smell Jacob like we did, but she obviously did.

She looked around at us. "No, not like that. Like . . . wet dog."

Jacob chuckled and lifted her onto his back.

"Yeah, you don't throw _her_ off," Emmett mumbled. Jacob ignored it, running around, jumping lightly as Renesmee shrieked with laughter.

With the party being over, we all began to walk back towards the house. Once in the living room, Jasper and Edward began making fun of Emmett for his defeat.

"Em, you have to admit, he got you _good_," Jasper said between spasms of laughter.

"Jazz, don't say that," Edward scolded, almost keeping a strait face. "I think the correct term here is _'ownage'_."

They both fell into a roar of laughter again. Rosalie rolled her eyes, but Bella and I could barely keep from laughing ourselves.

"If I was just warned before hand—." Emmett looked over at me. I turned my wide, innocent eyes on him. "You saw what was going to happen, didn't you?" he asked accusingly.

I stifled a giggle behind my hand. "Yeah, but I wasn't going to tell _you."_


	2. At the Gates of Heaven

**I wrote this for _FeelBetterBoy'sGF-JasperLuv-_'s April/May FanFic contest, Apple Blossom, for second place. The main rule was it had to take place before Bella and Edward crossed paths. I wrote this about Emmett's transformation and Rosalie's instant attraction to him. **

**Make sure to review!**

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**-{At the Gates Of Heaven}-**

**-{A Twilight One-Shot}-**

He wasn't sure how long he'd been hiking, or where this trial even led. He was just happy to get out of the house. The arguing was becoming too much: He made the decision four years ago to drop out of high school, but his parents—mainly his dad—still haven't gotten over it. Now being twenty-two, it's too late to go back, even if he wanted to. Public education never held much interest for him—he always knew there was more to learn than what was written in the text books at any school in the country.

But his parents thought differently.

His dad, a factory worker like his dad and his dad's dad, thought that his only son would be the one to break the pattern, be the only man in the family to actually make something of himself. His son would go to college, become a lawyer, and then a great politician, bringing dignity back into the family name.

But he never anticipated having a son like this one.

His son dropped of high school his senior year, spending the next four years of his life working at the local grocery store, still living at home. Where did he go wrong? Where did he fail as a father?

But the one truth that his son would never tell him was that he was _needed _at home. With his father working all day at the factory, someone needed to stay home and help his mother take care of his three-month-old twin sisters. They didn't live near any of his mother's family and she didn't have any friends in the neighborhood to help her, so she relied on her son to help.

Though he was always willing to help his mom, he would never tell his dad that he was doing woman's work. He was already always yelled at for not making a better man of himself, he didn't need this on top of it.

Which was why he wanted out of the house.

He went on trips like these often, but it wasn't always hiking. Sometimes he'll catch some of the high school boys playing football down the block and he'd join them; other times he would just go outside and run, not sure of his destination, just wanting a long journey.

Today, his escape was hiking. He woke up this morning before the sun did, putting on his hiking boots he bought the day before, packing a day's worth of food in a large red backpack he found in the hall closet, then leaving a note, telling his mom not to worry. He was sure his dad wouldn't even care.

Now it was noon, if not later, and he had no idea where he was. But that didn't matter. Maybe this was his way out, his way out of the hole he dug for himself, his way out of his father's ridicule.

Then he heard a rustling to his left, and it stopped his feet and thoughts cold.

He turned slowly to the source of the sound, bracing himself for what he might see, but the uncountable large bushes were perfectly still. For a fleeting second, he wondered if maybe someone was hiding behind them, trying to scare him. But that wasn't possible—no one would come up here. He was the only one brave enough (some would say stupid enough) to come up here alone.

So the thing here wasn't a person.

As he watched the bushes, they stood just as still as they were before, but he knew he didn't imagine what he heard—there was something in those bushes.

Slowly, he bent down, keeping his eyes on the bushes, to pick up a rock that was lying by his foot. Being as quiet as he could, he threw the rock at the bush, trying to stir whatever was hiding.

He immediately regretted that decision.

The bushes shook again, more violently this time. Still kneeling on the ground, he froze instantly, watching as a large brown grizzly bear immerged, growling fiercely.

All thoughts fled from his mind for a split second, until he finally understood what was going on: he was being attacked.

The bear looked around for a moment, confused as to what disturbed him. Then his eyes locked on a dark figure close to the ground, obviously afraid and weaker than he. Not a difficult prey.

Just as the bear threw a paw at him, he jumped backwards, trying to get out of the way. He didn't completely succeed—he had a huge gash down his left side from the dangerously sharp claws.

He stood up instantly, bracing himself for a fight. He knew he would never win, but he wasn't going to die easily. The bear lowered itself back down on all fours, swaying as it progressed to its lunch. Once it was close enough, it jumped to its back legs, roaring madly. It took another swipe at the man in front of him, this time getting his face, causing to scream and stagger backwards, holding his face, swearing.

The bear was done playing with its food—it has had nothing to eat for two days and this slab of meat in front of him was too tempting.

The bear lunged for him, taking him down easily. Mustering all the strength he could, he pulled his arms up and tried to push the furry weight off of him, fighting back. The bear retaliated by swiping at him again, causing blood to seep from his nose to his mouth.

The bear bit his arm, taking a chunk of the skin and muscle out, and more crimson blood spilled.

He knew he wouldn't live much longer—he was losing too much blood. Wasn't there something in the paper a couple weeks ago about bear attacks? They were just coming out of hibernation, so they were much more irritable. No sane person would cross paths with one. But no one had ever called him sane, so he didn't count that. But there was something about the death rate of bear attacks—the statistics of living in this situation weren't with him.

He was never one to abide by numbers, but he couldn't ignore them, either. Knowing that he was going to die inevitably, he shut down all of his defenses and waited for death, hoping it would come quickly.

Somewhere in his subconscious, he realized that he had left a note for his mother, saying he would come home fine. When they find his body—or what was left of it—it would definitely show that he was far from fine. He felt bad about telling his mom he would come back to her and his sisters safely when he couldn't guarantee it.

But then he realized that this was his way out he asked for, prayed for. He never really thought of himself as a Christian, but he did know there was a higher power up there somewhere. And, whoever it was, they listened to him. They didn't give him the escape he had in mind, but it was as good as gold to him. No matter how it went, he knew that the regret for his choices would be over, and he would be in a better place.

But what if he didn't go to a better place? Surely, whatever it was out there, they would have mercy on a dying man.

Suddenly, the weight was off of him, and he felt the ground leave his back. He forced his eyes open groggily, trying to figure out what was happening. He realized there were arms under him, supporting him, but they didn't feel like arms—they felt more like ice. He turned his head ever so slightly, seeing as that was as much he could move it anyway, and looked over to the person beside him.

If his heart was strong enough to pump blood at all after his last excursion, it would definitely stop at the sight of this woman.

She was tall, with long legs and long, golden blonde hair. Her pale skin showed and beautiful features showed that she wasn't human—wasn't from this _planet_. She was, without a doubt, an angel. Maybe he was going to a better place, after all . . .

She looked into his eyes, her honey-gold eyes soft and caring, but still concerned. She wiped his blood-stained hair out of his face, then looked him over, trying to decide the best way to carry him. She settled on holding him around the waist, throwing his arms and head over her shoulder. She wondered momentarily if this would hurt him, then realized that he would be too unconscious to notice it, anyway.

She watched his eyes as they slowly drifted shut, giving up. She had to get him where he was going, fast.

Running impossibly fast, she took him off the trail and through the woods, up through the mountains until she came upon who she was looking for: her family.

"Rosalie—," the bronze-haired angel asked.

"Not now, Edward." She looked to the blonde one. "Can you help him?"

The blonde angel was astonished. "Who is he?"

"_Can you help him?" she repeated. "There's not much time."_

_The blonde angel placed his cold hand upon the dying man's face, causing him to stir slightly, then groan with the pain and exertion. _

_He opened his dark eyes slowly, the bright afternoon sun blinding him. Then he locked eyes with the blonde angel._

"_What's your name, son?" he asked._

_This man had features just as beautiful as the woman that brought him here. As he looked around he saw another woman and a man, both pale and beautiful. A flair of hope sparked up in his heart. These people were angels, ready to take him in. He looked back into the blonde man's golden eyes, how the sun behind him caught his hair, making him look even more extraordinary. With a start, they dying man realized that this angel in front of him was the God everyone talked about._

"_Emmett Wh—," he was cut short because of the sudden pain on his side. He closed his eyes, then realized that someone had put some liquid in his wounds, cleaning them. What kind of heaven was this?_

"_I'm sorry," God said. "This will be over soon."_

"_Rose, give him some room," the bronze-haired angel said to Emmett's savior._

"_I can't let him die," she responded, defiance in her tone. _

_Die? He was going to die? He guessed that was how he got to where he was going, but she made it sound like a bad thing. Where was he now?_

_God looked back at Rosalie. "Then what do you want to do?"_

_Her face was stone, but a flicker of indecision crossed her eyes. She nodded slightly to herself, making up her mind._

"_I'll love him. I know I will."_

"_How can you possibly know this?" the bronze-haired angel—Edward—asked, exasperated._

"_I already think I love him. I can't help it," she said, staring into Emmett's face as the blood fled from it. "He cannot die," she said to God._

"_Okay," He said, stepping out of the way. He motioned for Rosalie to do the honors._

_Her face showed her fear plainly. _

"_I can't do it," she said, cowering._

"_Rose, he has to live," the other, shorter angel said. Her face was kind, but her eyes showed her anxiety for this situation._

"_I'm afraid he won't if I do it. I barely brought him up here," she said in a small voice._

_God studied her face. "I'll do it," He said bravely._

_God and Rosalie bent down beside him on the rocky surface, Rosalie smoothing his matted hair, God bracing himself for what he was planning to do._

"_Make it quick, please," Rosalie pleaded. "I don't want to see him in any more pain."_

_God looked at Rosalie. "He will be in pain."_

_God's cold hands gripped Emmett's shoulder and head firmly, holding him in place. He knew he would thrash once he finished._

_As quickly as He could—but still efficiently—He closed His teeth on Emmett's neck._

_Emmett's eyes opened in a flash._

_Suddenly hyperaware of everything that was happening, he made note of the raging fire burning through his veins. How could this possibly be heaven? There was no joy in this. _

_There had to be good in it. He knew he wasn't the perfect person, but he didn't deserve this fate, no one did. _

_The fire inside of him caused him to shake uncontrollably, flailing his arms and legs all around him. He tried desperately to hold himself still, to not use his last store of energy, but it was too difficult. He let his body do what it may, no matter how painful._

_No, this wasn't heaven. It was hell. There was no way to change it now. He would deal with the consequences now, and only hope no one else would do what he did to deserve this._

_He was apparently screaming, because a soothing soprano voice said, "Shh, shh. It's okay. You'll be okay."_

_Was she lying? How could he be okay after this? It made no sense. It was impossible. This showed what horrible things awaited him, how much worse they could get._

"_I promise. It's okay."_

_He opened his eyes to glare at whoever was lying to him, but he instead locked eyes with the blonde-haired angel that saved him. How could she not save him now?_

_Her cold hand stroked his cheek, now burning from the venom in his veins. "This will all be over. I promise. We will be together. I will take care of you."_

_He had no reason to trust her, but he had no reason to doubt her, either. He decided to take her word and endure this torture as quietly as he could. He would, no matter how long it lasted or where he ended up, whether it was heaven or hell. If it was heaven, he knew that any angel as beautiful as his one would be there, and he would meet her again; if it was hell, then he knew he could endure it. He could endure anything as long as he had this angel at his side._


	3. Piano Lessons

**This is a nice, easy little fluffy one-shot that takes place before Breaking Dawn. That's all I really have to say about it.**

**Enjoy!**

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**.:Piano Lessons:.**

**.:A Twilight One-Shot:.**

"Edward, this is completely ridiculous!" I complained as he pulled me by the arm into his house. I didn't see anyone else's car—not the yellow Porche, or the black Mercedes, but that didn't mean anything in this family.

"No, your over-reaction is completely ridiculous," he said, looking back at me. He didn't even bother to hide his amusement at my expression.

I groaned as he pulled me through the door and sat me down beside him at the piano bench. I refused to look at the grand instrument, instead glancing around, admiring yet again Esme's flawless décor of the humongous house.

I felt Edward's eyes on me, but I wouldn't meet them. No doubt he would use his beautiful golden eyes to get his way. Again.

I've been through this drill way too many times.

"Bella," he said quietly, his voice pulling my gaze towards him.

I resisted.

"Bella, what's so horrible about all this?" he asked, just like he did the entire car ride here. And, just like then, I didn't answer.

"Bella, it's a _piano_! It doesn't bite!"

"There's no point in you teaching me this, anyway," I told him, using my last source of argument. "By the wedding, I'll forget all of this."

"You never know. If you have me helping you"—he flashed his ultra-white smile at me—"you might remember it after a short three days."

This was the first time he made the transformation process sound not-so painful and excruciating. He must _really_ want me to learn to play the piano.

I made the mistake of looking into his eyes for any length of time.

I sighed. "Ugh, fine. Show me, teacher."

He smiled.

He took my hands and placed them on the piano, situating each finger on its own ivory key.

"These are the home keys," he said.

He spent the next thirty minutes trying to teach me the basic scale, but to no avail. I couldn't make my fingers strike they keys at the right time, so the notes came out staccato, unsteady. It sounded like a cat walking over the keys.

"Bella, are you trying?" he asked, looking at me with one eyebrow raised.

"Of course," I lied. I really wasn't, but I wasn't going to tell him that.

And I tried the scale again, slaughtering it.

"Here, try it like this," he said, quickly off the bench and behind me, his hands over mine, gently pressing on each individual finger, playing the scale perfectly. It actually sounded like music—beautiful music, compared to my attempt at it.

I groaned and leaned back into his chest, my hands off the keys.

"This is hopeless," I informed him, looking up at his face.

He chuckled. "You give up too easily."

"If I can't even play five notes right, how am I supposed to play a freaking _song_?"

He looked back to the keys, and placed his hands in the same positions mine were in a moment ago.

He played the scale up and down with his right hand while his left hand played various chords, all within the five-note range. I looked closely at his hands, at the keys, making sure those were the same notes I was supposed to be playing. The whole idea of learning to play the piano felt hopeless again as I realized they were the _exact same notes I had my fingers on._

_The sound was so unbearably sweet, it was hard to believe it was just a scale and some chords. But—I looked up at Edward's face, which had a smirk on it._

_I recognized the excerpt from my lullaby._

_He leaned down and kissed my neck. "See? It's not so hard," he said into my skin._

_Well, that did it._

_I turned on the bench so I was facing him better. I wrapped my arms around his neck and pulled myself closer, my face inches from his._

"_Is it?" he asked, leaning in for a kiss. _

_He kissed me tenderly, moving his hands from the keys and onto my back, supporting me. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me up from the bench, and setting me on top of the grand piano, never breaking the kiss._

_I pulled away to catch my breath._

"_No, you're just good at everything," I clarified, kissing him again._

_Piano lessons will just have to wait._


	4. Miserable At Best

**This is a songfic for the song "Miserable At Best" by Mayday Parade. Anyone out there a fan? No? Well, you should be. Their lyrics make for great inspiration when--if you're like me--you're suffering from insane writers' block. **

**Speaking of the lyrics, if you're planning to listen to the song while reading this (you could go to playlist dot com or something) let me warn you of some things. The very first line in the song is "Katie, don't cry", but just ignore that. This is obviously not about Katie, so she should just suck it up and stop crying. Another thing, the words in bold with the lovely designs around it (excluding the title) are the verses that matched the situation, but they are not it order. If I put them in order, the story wouldn't make much sense.**

**You have now officially been warned.**

**Now for the summary. This takes place durring New Moon, and Edward decides to come back. I know it's been done and it's kinda played out, but have they done it to this song? I don't think so! And just to make this clear, I am _not_ a Jacob fan! Not in the romantic way, at least. But if this is a story about heartbreak (on Edward's behalf) then who else would be in it? Mike Newton? Let's face it, Edward wouldn't consiter him much of a threat. So adding Jacob was mandatory for the story to go on. Sigh.**

**Be sure to review!**

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**—:Miserable At Best:—**

**—****:**A Twilight One-Shot:—

"_Bella, I don't want you to come with me."_

"_You . . . don't . . . want me?"_

"_No."_

—**:Don't cry, I know:—**

—**:You're trying your hardest:—**

I told her a lie. The worst lie I cold have ever told my beloved Bella. I told her I didn't want her, I told her I didn't love her.

And, like the monster I am, I made her believe me.

She stared at me blankly, her face showing her incomprehension of the words—the lies—I was telling her. I looked back evenly, emotionlessly.

"Of course, I will always love you . . . in a way," I said, trying to apologize for the things I said. But it didn't help. I only felt worse.

—**:And the hardest part is letting go:—**

—**:Of all the nights we've shared:—**

I kept the façade until I was sure that she truly and completely believed me—in other words, until my silent heart was truly and completely shattered.

She looked into my eyes, and for a second I could have sworn that she saw strait through me, that she was going to yell at me for lying to her, that she would tell me right there that she didn't want me, either. I wondered if it would help, or if I would regret making her say that.

As I told her to stay safe, I looked to deeply into those chocolate brown eyes that I have grown to love and saw what I knew I was to keep myself away from, and if I didn't, I knew my heart would keep me in Forks forever, no matter how dangerous I was to her.

I saw everything I wanted, and everything I was forbidden to have since 1918.

I was a selfish monster, and that's why I must leave.

—**:But compared to your eyes:—**

—**:Nothing shines quite as bright:—**

—**:And when we looked to the sky:—**

—**:It's not mine, but I want it:—**

And now, months later, I only have one question to ask myself: Would coming back be better? It's obvious that my existence is shaped around Bella—my love—my life. But would she feel the same? Would I be willing to put myself before her? Put my needs, my need for her, before her safety?

Would she even want to look at me again?

Then I remembered the look I saw in her eyes, the look that I knew meant she saw everything inside of me, and I took courage in that, that she would take me back.

—**:Nothing feels like home:—**

—**:When you're a thousand miles away:—**

"I don't see an outcome," Alice said when I asked her. "I guess since she hasn't made a decision yet, I can't see it."

My mind was so set on returning to Forks that I forgot that Alice had said "I guess".

—**:You're all that I hoped I'd find:—**

—**:In every single way:—**

I returned on a Saturday, a day I knew that Charlie would be at work and Bella would be home. I decided not to scare her by pulling up in her driveway, so instead I parked my Volvo at a gas station and ran into the woods behind it, going the long way to Bella's house, without even bothering to lock the doors.

Before I knocked on the front door, I climbed up the tree outside her window to take a quick look at Bella, to brace myself for what I would see when she saw me.

I don't know what I expected; would I want her to be happier now that I'm gone? Or would I want her to be as despair-ridden as I am?

But what I saw was neither of those—Bella was gone.

—**:And everything I would give:—**

—**:Is everything you couldn't take:—**

I opened the window and jumped into the bedroom, careful not to land on or look at the loose floorboard that held her memories of me. I closed my eyes before I could loose myself in memories of my own and sniffed the air.

The aroma of her skin mixed with the delicious scent of blood and her scented shampoo hit me instantly, and the memories came in a flood that was difficult to push back. Instead of allowing them to bombard me viciously, I let them come in a trickle, enough to produce a feeling of guilty pleasure, but not enough that it send me into the useless, broken beast I have been for months.

I forced myself to not be distracted as I concentrated on the scent; not on the smell itself, but using my hunting instincts to know how long she's been gone. She hadn't been at home all day.

I looked out the window over the driveway, only to confuse myself further when I saw her red truck sitting there idly, looking old and worn out and unwashed.

My body tensed as a million different reasons for Bella's disappearance rushed through my mind—had she been kidnapped? Had she gone back to Phoenix? Had another vampire gotten to her before I could protect her?

I pushed the worries out of my head and concentrated on finding her.

I jumped back out of the window—leaving it open—and rushed back into the woods, where I scoped out every inch of the area, smelling the air for Bella. I knew there was a chance that the culprits—if she was abducted—would have taken her out of Forks, but I wanted to check the town first, just in case she wasn't taken unwillingly.

There was no sign of her in the woods, so I cautiously ran through the town, making sure I wasn't seen, only to find she hadn't been there either. At least, she hadn't touched anything there.

Her kidnappers locked her in a car and drove out of town as quickly as they could. That's the only explanation.

Or nomads finished her off right outside her house. The body was in her car.

But I ran back to the house—the truck was empty.

_"I guess since she hasn't made a decision yet, I can't see it."_

_"I can't see it."_

_"I guess."_

A deadly combination of fury and fear raged inside of me and I ran through the woods to La Push, where I would interrogate Sam Uley until he told me what his wolves did with my Bella.

But it wasn't necessary to go to Sam—I could smell Bella halfway through the reservation. I followed her scent to a small house made of old dark wood with high, narrow windows. I approached the back yard carefully, wrinkling my nose at the concentrated wolf smell.

A werewolf lived here.

The cloudy sky finally let a small, steady flow of raindrops fall as I approached the back window of the tiny house. The water echoed off the leaves behind me in a symphony that was at once beautiful and depressing. If I was paying more attention and was more trusting to omens, I would have taken it as one.

I looked into the window and saw a middle-aged man in a wheelchair in front of a small TV, his head leaned back in what would be an uncomfortable position as he slept, snoring loudly and drool dripping out of the side of his mouth. I recognized him as Black, decendant of the Quileute leader eighty years ago.

I jumped and ran back to the safety of the woods when I heard laughter behind me.

It was Bella, no doubt, but a lower laugh was undetectable, but I smelled werewolf on his breath.

So much like Bella. When one danger leaves, she finds a way to tangle herself up in another.

I lived what feels like a majority of my life away from that sound, and now that I've heard it, I could feel parts of myself coming back together, pieces of the puzzle that I didn't even know were missing until I felt them fall back into place. But it wasn't all of the pieces—I still needed to see her to complete the jigsaw that is my existence.

**—:And the hardest part of living:—**

**—:Is just taking breaths to stay:—**

Just as cautiously as before, I made my way to the makeshift shed, the place where I heard my Bella's laugh.

I should've left then, so I could've kept the memory of Bella's laugh fresh in my mind. But no, the selfish being that I am wanted more, so I looked into the shed and saw the thing that tainted my memory of the melodic sound forever.

She sat in a homemade car with a tall, dark-skinned native—the werewolf—and they shared drinks and jokes, all the while he looked at her with the same greedy expression I felt on my face when I first saw Bella, when I first talked to her. It was the sign of affection.

I wanted her to be happy—I can not forget that. I can't regret what I've done now.

But I can still fix it.

I left just as the werewolf turned on the car radio to a slow love song and swept Bella—my Bella—up to her feet and into an embrace. He was just as awkward as she was when it came to dancing, but the looks they gave each other still made it romantic.

—**:I'll bet he gets the nerve to walk the floor:—**

—**:And ask my girl to dance:—**

—**:She'll say yes:—**

I ran as fast as I could, away from the music, away from the werewolf stink, away from my life that I destroyed.

I stayed in the tree all night, watching Bella sleep like I did before I confessed my love to her. More than once Charlie came in, and his thoughts surprised me.

_Another night without nightmares. Hanging with Jake must really help her. Finally, a night without the screaming . . ._

A horrible creature inside of me rejoiced at hearing that Bella dreamt about me while I was gone. It was like before I left, when she said my name in her sleep. But those were pleasant dreams, dreams she enjoyed. These were nightmares, nightmares that she woke screaming from.

And the dreams—_nightmares_—had stopped since meeting the werewolf. He was helping her forget, which is what I wanted her to do, but still was hoping wouldn't happen. At least not this way.

Bella slept soundly through the night—no dreams, no nightmares, no talking in her sleep. She woke with a small smile on her lips, and I longed to talk to her, to hold her, to touch her . . .

But I resisted. Nothing would be worse than confusing her life further by forcing myself into it while the werewolf—Jake—starred in it.

—**:And I got the point that I should leave you alone:—**

—**:But we both know I'm not that strong:—**

Jake came to the house around ten that morning, and after saying hello to Charlie, he walked to her bedroom and kissed Bella on the cheek.

My eyes stung with shameless, never-falling tears when she smiled in return.

—**:Let's not pretend you're alone tonight:—**

—**:I know he's there:—**

I was only torturing myself by going back to the house I once called home that next day—it held too many memories—but I still went. I looked in the dust-ridden place, recalling memories that included every room in the house. I glanced over to the piano that was now covered in a sheet and remembered the look on Bella's face when I first played her the song I wrote for her, and when I remembered the glittering tear that fell from her face when I finished made me long for tears of my own.

I pulled the sheet off and sat at the bench, staring at the ivory keys, of which the dust did not have a chance to take the shine and beauty away from.

—**:But compared to your eyes:—**

—**:Nothing shines quite as bright:—**

I placed my hands on the keys and began to play.

I would face my sentence I gave myself and walk away from this past without looking back, because I left nothing to look back on. The rest are merely memories, pages in a book that is finished, notes to a song that no longer linger in the air.

I will leave nothing for her to look back on me with, either—she has no reason for it. I had her past, but someone else has her present and future. I can leave. I can live. I can not be happy.

As I played, every memory I had with Bella ran through my head, like a sad romance movie, her lullaby being the background music. Anyone in the world could watch this slideshow playing in my mind and not feel a fraction of the pain, the loss I felt.

_"No spiders?"_

_"Nope."_

_"And no radioactivity?"_

_"None."_

_"Dang."_

_"Kryptonite doesn't bother me, either."_

_But the way you look at me does. In ways you don't even know._

The memories never slowed, and the pain never sesed. Nor did I try to stop either. I gave myself a fraction of the punishment I deserved, the punishment I would make sure lasted for the rest of my meaningless existence.

_"Did I do something wrong?"_

_"No—quite the opposite. You're driving me crazy."_

—**:I know I'm good for something:—**

—**:I just haven't found it yet:—**

The memories came in perfect clarity—her face, hair, voice, all just as if she were standing beside me, talking again.

But I couldn't reach out to her, couldn't hold her. The memories will soon grow old, but the feelings behind them would stay. At least for me.

_"Bella, I'm not going anywhere. I'll be right here as long as you need me."_

—**:But these words were never easier for me to say:—**

—**:Or for her to second guess:—**

When I reached the final chord, I noticed the aroma that filled the room. It brought the combination of desperation and despair that I have already begun to become accustomed to: it was Bella's scent mixed with werewolf.

There was no running now—now I had to face the mess I made for myself, no matter now much it hurt me or Bella.

I looked out the window beside the piano and saw Bella standing in the yard, the overgrown grass reaching her knees. She was staring at the empty house with tears rolling down her face. I saw the red truck behind her and realized that she somehow heard her lullaby and drove here, to the source of the sound. By looking at her face I saw that she thought she was imagining it. No, she didn't think that, it was just what she wanted to believe.

She didn't see me in the window yet, looking out at her, so I stayed perfectly still, not wanting to draw attention to myself. Soon, the werewolf came jogging from the woods—shirtless—towards Bella, calling her name.

"Bella, what's wrong?" he asked when he came to her and saw the tears. Without an answer, he took her in his arms and she cried into his chest.

_It still smells like leech here. How long would that smell last?_ Were the only thoughts I could here; Bella's were still as distant and mysterious as they'd ever been.

I ran out the back door and into the woods while Jake cradled and soothed Bella—no longer my Bella—with no intentions of looking back.

But I changed my mind.

Without going to her, I climbed to the top of a tree on the outskirts of the yard and looked down on Bella, trying to ignore the werewolf doing what I wished I could be doing.

Somehow, in a way completely unknown to me, she looked up, directly to where I was standing. I don't know how she knew I was there—she didn't even look around for me. But she saw me. And once our eyes locked, it was that much harder to look away.

—**:I could live without you:—**

—**:But without you I'd be miserable at best:—**

I closed my eyes for a second, trying to clear my head, trying to pull logic back inside of it. I glanced at my love once more as her mouth moved, shaping silent words. I didn't bother to translate them until I had already turned and ran back to Canada where Alice, Jasper, Carlisle and Esme were staying.

_I love you._

_

* * *

_

**Okay, I have one more thing to add. I didn't initially write this for FanFiction. I just wrote it because it looked pretty. I played with the fonts and sizes and whatnot and made it fun to look at as well as read. But the work was lost when it was uploaded.**

**If you want the origonal version, email me at oreos(underscore)love(underscore)milk(at)yahoo(dot)com. That is not my personal email, so if you have a spiffy email system and it gives you the name of the account's owner, it's not my name. Just a random thing. Kind of an inside joke between me and my friends. Kinda.**


	5. Alice and the Pimple

This one-shot in particular was completely random on my part. I just had one of those "What would Alice do?" moments, I guess. Oh, like you've never had them!

It's post-Breaking Dawn, so Bella is still human. Thus, the pimple. Enjoy!

* * *

=[Alice and the Pimple]=

**=[A Twilight One-Shot]=**

I woke when it was still dark, having nothing better to do. Or maybe it was because I felt alone in that room by myself, with Edward out hunting. Either way, it was five in the morning, and I couldn't sleep.

I stared at a fixed place on the ceiling above my bed as the view outside my window gradually became brighter and brighter as the hours passed. I didn't look over at the clock on my nightstand until the seven o'clock alarm went off. At first, I tried to ignore it, but the senseless _beep_ing was unnerving, so I swung my arm over to the general direction of the clock, aiming for the snooze button, keeping my gaze on the ceiling. I should have known better than to do that—I know how bad my aim is—but I still did it, and I still made a mess. My arm missed the snooze button and instead hit the clock itself at a bad angle, causing it to fly from the nightstand, taking a pencil and three books with it.

Of course.

I closed my eyes and groaned, unwilling to move. I knew I'd have to pick everything up eventually, so I'd better do it now. I rolled over and gathered my books while still lying on the bed, but had to get up to get the blasted alarm clock that rolled under my bed. At least the _beep_ing stopped.

I was already up, so I might as well start the day. After all, Alice is sure to show up at some point, and she wouldn't want to see me still in bed.

Grudgingly, I slid my feet lazily to the bathroom across the hall.

I turned on the light and rubbed my eyes, appalled at what I saw in the mirror.

I had a huge, fat, red pimple sticking out like a mountain from my face.

Alice is going to kill me.

***

I'm not sure how long I stared at the _thing_ on my face, but I just know that I finally came to when the phone rang.

I tore my eyes from the mirror and ran downstairs to answer it. Only after picking up the phone and saying "Hello" did I realize who it might be and that I should be afraid.

"Isabella Marie Swan," Alice growled menacingly.

Charlie needs caller ID.

"Hi, Alice," I said, trying to be cheerful. It didn't work.

"I'm not _stupid_, Bella," she said, still terrifying. "I know you decided to not come over today."

"Wh—?" I started to ask, but then I realized I had made that decision. Not completely yet, but she obviously saw the part of me not coming, no matter how I did it. Hopefully she didn't see—

"You need to come over here as soon as you can and I'll take care of that . . . _blemish_."

Yeah, she saw it.

"Alice, I can take care of it . . ."

I heard the purr of a sports car going sixty miles over the speed limit through the receiver.

"I'm coming." And she hung up.

I sighed. This was going to be a long day.

***

"You are _so _lucky Edward is still hunting," Alice informed me, her narrowed eyes unnecessarily focusing on the road ahead of her.

"Don't you mean _you're_ lucky?" I retorted, trying not to laugh at her expression. "You know he would never let you intervene if he knew."

"Which is reason number two why I'm not going to tell him." She looked at me for a fraction of a second out of the corner of her eye. "The first is for your sake."

I sighed, defeated. She's right—it would be embarrassing to have him know I had a pimple the size of Vesuvius on my face. I know I'm only human and that he would never care whether or not I had an active volcano site located on my skin, but it was still something I would want to keep to myself. It showed exactly _how_ painfully human I am, how I could never match up to someone like Edward. I felt stupid voicing this—even in my head—but it was true.

At a speed that was almost—_almost_—second nature to me, we were back at the Cullens' garage, the expensive foreign cars aligned around us: the black Mercedes, the frightening Ducati, the silver Volvo—they took Emmett's Jeep hunting—and the canary yellow Porche that Alice had me strapped inside of.

The second the car was parked, Alice was opening the passenger side door, pulling me out by the arm, and carrying me inside the house and up the stairs into her massive bathroom. My feet never touched the ground, although my arm was all she touched. Once she sat me on the counter, I rubbed and rolled my shoulder; there was going to be a bruise there.

Alice came back into the bathroom with the laptop out of Edward's room, looking frustrated. The high-speed internet here was too slow for this family.

She noticed the massage therapy I was giving my arm. She raised an eyebrow.

"Nothing," I sighed. "Why do you have Edward's laptop? Don't you have one?"

She hesitated for a second. "I refuse to look at mine for now."

I shot her a curious look, but, seeing as it was unlikely I'd get an answer, I let it go.

"What are you doing?" I asked as she waited impatiently for the web page to load.

"Looking for home pimple remedies," she answered, her eyes still on the screen.

"Why don't we just pop it?" I asked, looking closer at my face in the reflection. It wouldn't be difficult to get rid of that way. Maybe a little painful, if Alice insisted on doing it.

"We can't just _pop it_!" she said exasperatedly. "It would leave a scar! No, no, no, we're doing this the old-fashioned way."

In the kitchen, Alice had an intimidating display of household items that I guessed would rid someone of pimples—potato peelings, garlic, toothpaste, lemon, vinegar, and a blender.

"Alice, I have some acne treatment in my bathroom. I could just—"

"No, those take too long," she explained, reading the new page that came up on the computer screen. "Besides, it's too easy."

"I think that's the point."

Alice shut the laptop and turned to me. "Bella, you have given me an amazing opportunity," she said, gently grabbing my shoulders. "Do you realize how long I've waited for you to get a pimple?"

"I thought you were angry when you found out?"

"I was angry because you weren't going to ask for my help, but I guess I should have already known that." She shrugged. "We can't all be perfect."

I wasn't sure who she was talking about, but I let it go.

"You know how Edward was trying to give you all those human experiences?" she asked.

I nodded.

"Well, this is my chance to get one!"

" . . . Huh?"

"I never had a pimple," she said almost regretfully. "Or, at least, I don't remember it. There wasn't much way to treat it when you're locked away all those years, anyway."

"So treating my pimple will . . . let you experience the wonder that is acne?" _At my expense? _But I didn't add that.

"Exactly!"

"Alice," I groaned.

"None of that. Now, let's get to work—we're wasting time!"

"Is this necessary?"

"Of course! Now hold still and shut up."

I groaned.

Alice had me lying on the kitchen counter while she quickly peeled potatoes, setting the skin carefully on a plate beside me. Before I had a chance to ask, she was mixing lime juice, basil, and vinegar together in a bowl, creating a harsh smell.

She brought the bowl closer to me, and as she reached out with her hand to cover my face with her foul concoction, I flinched away, wrinkling my nose.

"Bella, grow up. This will help!" she said, putting her contaminated hand on her hip. I would say something about the mixture ruining her clothes, but I guessed she wouldn't mind—she had plenty of clothes to not miss one outfit. But if she did care, I could use it as payback.

She reached over again to put the cream on my cheek.

"What are you doing?" I asked, flinching away again. "The problem is on my forehead, not my cheek."

"But this will help prevent others," she explained innocently. "When one starts, you know another is going to pop up any minute. Now _hold still_."

I silently let her rub her wet hand over my face several times. Grudgingly—but silently.

"Am I done?" I asked when my face was thoroughly soaked.

"Not yet."

She reached for the potato peelings.

"What . . . ?"

"This will dry out the other pimples."

"But there are none."

"Yet," she said as she pressed the peelings to my face, making what was sure to be a scary mask.

When she was done, she flipped Edward's laptop open again and reread the page. "Now we let that sit for . . . _two hours?! We don't have that time!"_ She shut the lap top again and quickly carried me up the stairs and into her bathroom, leaving a trail of potato skins behind us.

Once my face was scrubbed clean and smelled fresh, Alice had me sit on the bathroom counter, my back to the mirror.

"Maybe this will work . . ." she mused absentmindedly.

She had a tube of toothpaste in her hand, squeezing a small amount onto her finger, which was reaching for my face.

"Not all over my face this time," I warned.

"No, just the pimple," she said, giving the blemish a determined glare.

She rubbed the toothpaste on my forehead.

"Now what?" I asked when she was done.

"It should dry out."

"How long?"

She wiped the cream off my face, and upon seeing the not-dried pimple, she decided, "Maybe we could speed it up a little."

She reapplied the toothpaste—in a larger amount this time—and blew cool, sweet air onto it.

She washed off the toothpaste again. It didn't work.

She groaned.

She reapplied the toothpaste again, this time using a blow dryer instead of herself. The hot air blew my hair into the sticky cream and undoubtedly turned my forehead red. Alice didn't seem to notice—she just kept the blow drier to my forehead.

She washed off the toothpaste again too see that it didn't work—again.

"Are you kidding me?!"

"Alice, these things take time," I tried to explain.

"I still have one option," she said, ignoring me.

She dragged me to the kitchen, where the blender was sitting mockingly on the kitchen table.

I saw immediately what she was doing. "No way, Alice."

"If you haven't noticed, you don't have much of a say in this," she said, cocking her head to the side and popping out a hip.

"That's because I haven't put up much of a fight."

"You wouldn't be much of a threat." She pushed me onto a bar stool in front of the blender. "Now just cooperate."

She lifted the lid up and pulled my head closer to the fearful machine.

"Alice, I don't think—"

I didn't get a chance to finish because Alice had pushed my head down on the opening and turned on the blender. The sound scared me—I screamed.

Alice kept her hand on the back of my neck, holding my head still as the rest of my body thrashed, trying to get away. "Beauty is pain," she said over and over in my ear.

She suddenly became really still, but it didn't stop my screaming.

She cursed and turned off the blender, picked me up (while my arms were still flailing) and took me to her room.

"Alice, what—?"

"Just be quiet." And she ran back downstairs.

I heard the front door open and close and I smiled. Alice was going to pay now that everyone was back from their hunting trip. I put my ear to the wall, hoping to hear their conversation downstairs.

"Hello. You're back early," Alice greeted pleasantly, making no attempt to make her voice quieter than I could hear.

"We told you we'd be back today," Emmett said just as loudly.

"Alice, why are you singing 'My Hips Don't Lie' backwards in your head?" Edward asked. "And why is Bella—" Realization hit him. "What did you do to her?"

"Nothing," Alice said innocently. I imagined her making wide Bambi eyes while saying this.

There was a crash and a snarl. I jumped.

"No, Edward! Don't go up there!" Alice yelled.

They argued more and I decided to go down there and break it up before they tore the house down—or before Rosalie or Emmett got in it—but I saw Alice's laptop sitting on her dresser. Didn't she say something about not wanting to look at it? I opened it up carefully, afraid of what might be there, but also curious as to what would keep Alice away. The screen blinked on to her desktop, where a picture of Emmett in one of Alice's skimpier bikinis, posing provocatively, was her wallpaper.


	6. Second Glance

**This has to be one of my favorite one-shots I have ever written. Writing in a guy's perspective is just so fun to me, and Jared made the perfect candidate. **

**We've all heard Jake's version of Jared and Kim's story, right? He sat beside her in class every day, then, all of a sudden, he looked at her and couldn't look away. I wanted more out of that, personally. So I wrote this. **

**But I warn you, I was writing this while writing a new chapter for my story Follow You Anywhere, where the characters are Kate and Garrett. I might have accidentally put Kate instead of Kim once or twice, so I'm sorry if I did. I tried to fix as many mistakes as I could, but we aren't perfect, right? **

**Reviews are welcome!**

* * *

-Second Glance-

**-A Twilight One-Shot-**

This sucked. Balls.

I should be out there, with Sam and Paul, not here in _school_. What good am I here? There could be a fight, or someone could break the treaty . . .

I imagined war breaking out between us and the Cullens. First it was just with Sam and Paul against the leeches. The outcome wasn't good. Then I imagined it with me joining them, taking out every singe bloodsucker that crossed my path. We would win, and the council would call me a hero. I would become the leader of the pack, and generations of Quileutes would listen to stories of the great, legendary Jared . . .

Then Mr. Carlen hit his desk with a ruler, and reality came back into view, painfully.

Sam told me a million times that going to the rez school for a couple weeks would show everyone that nothing weird was going on, that I was just sick. But I was already getting weird looks from the other guys in my class because I cut my hair off and was quieter than usual. I wasn't usually an angry guy, but I had reason to be one today—_I shouldn't have to be here_.

"Mr. Saul," Mr. Carlen barked. I wasn't paying attention, and he apparently said something he thought was important. Figures.

I looked up, trying to wipe the grimace off my face.

"Mr. Saul," he repeated, slowly walking towards my desk with his hands and ruler behind his back. "Maybe you would like to tell the rest of the class what is on your mind, since you seem to think it's _much_ more important than what's going on in here."

Every face in the class turned to me.

_Oh, I'd _love_ to tell you what's on my mind_, I thought. And I would. If Sam wouldn't kill me for it. And it's _definitely_ more important than what's going on in this hellhole.

"No, sir," I replied through clenched teeth, holding back every word that came to mind.

"Then maybe you should try to pay more attention to what's up here"—he motioned to the blank chalkboard—"and not your personal life."

_Oh, if he only knew . . ._ I thought acidly. If he had one idea about what my personal life included, he wouldn't give me this crap. No one else would, either. But no, I still had to take it all quietly, not saying one word to these people I was supposedly "protecting". Yeah, so much gratitude.

My hand shook slightly from the anger at Mr. Carlen, and I tried to control it. My vision went blurry, like it does when I'm about to go into wolf form. I closed my eyes. Sam and Paul would have my head if they knew I morphed in a classroom, no matter if it was accidental or not. I picked my pencil up off the desk, trying to make all my actions completely normal, while my head screamed at the rest of my body, trying to make it relax . . .

I had gripped the pencil so hard while trying to stop the shaking that I felt a few splinters poke out from the sides. I looked down at my hand. I was slowly breaking the pencil in two. It took all my strength and will power to let go of the pencil for a second, though I knew it might make me lose control and I would morph. So much for "tribal secret".

But I didn't lose it. Actually, releasing my grip from it calmed me slightly, and I was able to see that Mr. Carlen had begun to write on the chalkboard behind his desk and I wasn't taking notes like a good kid. I reached for my pencil again, but all I felt was desk. I looked to the ground and saw my pencil lying there, by a girl's foot. She caught me looking at it and she reached down to pick it up for me. She handed it to me, her shy eyes wide.

"You dropped this," she whispered.

I looked at her face to thank her, but the words came out as, "Thuh . . ."

Kim Marley looked back at me, both of our hands on the pencil. Her shy brown eyes glistened for a second, then she looked away, embarrassed. I realized how this would look to bystanders, so I put my hand back on my desk and pretended to take notes.

But I couldn't look away from Kim.

I realized that the blurriness at the corners of my eyes was gone, but I didn't really care. I didn't care if I morphed right now, if I killed a million innocent people, just as long as they weren't her. I remembered in the back of my mind that I didn't want to be here, that I wanted to be on patrol with my brothers. But it sounded so retarded now. I didn't want to go anywhere, be anywhere but this very spot. I kept staring.

Kim felt the intensity of my gaze and looked at me from the corner of her eye. Something about my expression caused her to look up, pushing her hair behind her ear. I kept staring.

Those eyes. Those eyes that looked so plain and flat to me before now held everything I ever needed. Somewhere in my head, I knew how stupid and gushy that sounded, but it didn't matter. It was the truth. The corners of her lips turned up slightly in a small smile, and her tan face lit up even more. Nervously, she combed her hands through the ends of her long black hair. I kept staring.

Had she always sat beside me? Has she always been here, where I could see her everyday, but I was too stupid and oblivious to notice it? Why was I just seeing how beautiful she was now? It was like seeing her for the first time. The expression on her face was unreadable, but it was okay. I just kept staring.

"Mr. Saul," Mr. Carlen barked again, louder this time. I didn't look away from Kim's face. "_Mr. Saul!"_

_Kim's gaze was ripped from mine when Mr. Carlen stood just inches from us, looking at us fiercely. _

"_Are we going to pay attention now?" he asked, his face mocking politeness, his voice a faux-sweet._

"_Yes, sir," I answered. Kim nodded her head vigorously._

"_Good." He marched over to his desk. "I'd hate to send someone to detention," he hinted._

_I stole another glance at Kim, who was now trying to take notes. I saw her look over at me a couple times, too._

_Seconds later—I think—the bell rang, and the students rushed out of the classroom and into the hall. I stayed behind, slowly gathering my stuff. So did Kim._

_Once we both had our books in a pile and made our way to the door, I held my hand out to her. "I'm Jared," I said, not knowing what else to say._

"_I know," she said. She blushed, her eyes wide. She didn't mean to say that. "I'm Kim," she said hurriedly, trying to smooth over that last bump._

"_I know," I answered, shaking her hand. She smiled._

_We looked at each other for a few seconds more. Her smile faltered slightly and her expression showed her awkwardness._

_I put my hand out the door in that swooshing motion that you see people do in movies. "Ladies first," I said._

_She smiled again, clutching her books to her chest._

_She walked down the hallway, her legs moving quickly, and I stared after her. I wondered how many more weeks I had to stay here before Sam called me out to the forest. I hoped it was a while. I wouldn't mind staying here for a couple weeks extra. Wouldn't mind at all . . ._


End file.
